Learning The Old Way
by olawah18
Summary: What if it was Daryl who separated from the group after the farm and was found by Michoone.
1. Chapter 1

My first walking dead story, I don't think I'm going to follow the walking dead story line, but this begins after they escape the farm.

PR

He had picked a _dandy_ place to take a nap; we're her thoughts as she gazed stoically down at the unconscious _filthy_ male before her. Her dark brown eyes flickered up briefly to the walkers stumbling quickly towards what they assumed would be their next meal. She unsheathed her Katana. Once they were taken care of, she turned her attention to the unconscious male once again, her eyes landing on his crossbow, still gripped tightly in his hand.

Her nose twitched, she had smelled it earlier, the odor of something burning. Did this guy come from that?

Now what?

Her eyes flickered around the woods again, as if the answer was someplace hidden in the trees. To save him; to not to save him, was the question. She had been doing so well so far, no stupid mistakes yet – nothing serious anyway. In the beginning there had been lots of mistakes of course, ones she had learned from. This could be a mistake; he was unconscious and could die anyway and slow her down.

Her considering eyes found him again, and scanned him over for noticeable bit marks. Nothing she could make out under the thick layer of dirt which coated his skin. Her eyes found her jawless, armless walkers.

How in the hell was she going to carry him?

_{

It had been difficult; he weighed a good amount and was completely unconscious. When she had finally gotten him inside the cabin she had cleared before her track in the woods, her back was screaming. She had roughly deposited the unconscious male on the couch, a puff of dust coating the air. She then rolled her shoulders with a frown.

Three hours later she was flipping through the home's family photo album, her eyes flicking upwards to look at the unconscious man every now and again. He was still breathing, but unconscious. She couldn't figure out why, he was still unconscious, he had no outwardly wounds. He better live after that track she had to make with him.

Her hands ran over the laminated photos, taking one of a man out of the cover and held it up beside the unconscious man's face. Nope, it wasn't him and she honestly didn't think it would be. It was worth a shot. Not like it would have mattered much anyway. She takes a sit back in the leather recliner on the other side of the coffee table, the album in her lap as she flips through it a fifth time.

A low groan broke the quiet and her eyes instantly shot up to the man, her hand finding her sword. She watched him grip his head and shake it very slowly for a while. He was completely oblivious to everything around him as he groaned in pain.

So it was his head that was hurt. Makes a lot of sense, Michoone thinks. "You alright? He literally jumps, and his head swirled around to her, his wide light eyes looking at her in surprise. The look on his face was sort of funny, eyes wide, mouth open. "Are you alright?" The woman once again asks.

His dark brows furrow together and his eyes and his mouth close. A few seconds later his mouth opens, "I… I…" He's struggling to talk, which makes her frown.

"What's your name?"

His eyes open again and he gently shakes his head. He looks confused, confused about what his name is.

"I don't…" He begins finally finding words. He moves for he's sitting rather than lying on the couch. "Daryl… my name, I think."

"You think?" She echoes.

He frowns again and grips his head between his arms, groaning loudly. "My head hurts."

A crash outside has Michoone tensing and whispering harshly. "More then that's going to hurt if those things hear you groaning in hear like that."

He looks at her. "What things?"

Oh boy…

{_

"I don't get it."

Michoone's face hardly hid her annoyance. It had seemed like a good idea to show the man rather than try to explain. That's why she had lugged 'Daryl's' clumsy ass – he's seriously clumsy she quickly realized, as he fell and tripped over himself – all the way upstairs to look out of the upstairs window at the walker bumbling about outside, and she was honestly surprised none of the walkers heard any of his stumbling.

"What is it you don't get?" Michonne asked, watching his face as it took in everything outside the window.

"All of it… Why in tha hell would they wanna eat other people?"

"People… They ain't anymore." His vocabulary had gotten better over the last hour, along with an accent, but his memories weren't. Michoone was no expert on memory loss but it hardly took an expert to realize this was bad.

"If one of those things bit me, I turn into one of'em."

"Yeah…" She answered that question for the fifth time. Besides the memory loss there was diffidently something else wrong with his brain, it would explain his almost comical clumsiness and his need to ask questions more than once.

"I don't get it." He mumbles quietly.

Michonne tells him they should try to get to sleep because they would have to leave in the morning. She was hesitant to leave out with him for obvious reasons, but the number of walkers outside was growing steadily. She let him have the couch and she took guard, she hoped by morning he would have his memories back, at least enough to be useful.

PR


	2. Chapter 2

I wasn't going to update this story anymore then I found my chapters and I was like Yay! I'll update now. I'm only giving you two chapters because I only finds these two anyway, if anyone wants to adopt this story/cowrite it with me contact me. If not, well, I guess I update and work on this very slowly.

PR

Daryl ran a hand over what was apparently his crossbow, frowning lightly. He had tried using it yesterday and had only ended up getting whispered harshly to by Michonne when the arrow had almost hit her. He had only been trying to help.

He had begun traveling with the woman a week ago and felt like nothing but a nuisance. Michonne wasn't very good at hiding what it was she was thinking either, so he was pretty certain she felt that way as well.

He loudly sighed, his eyes trailing lazily across the cloudless sky. It was pretty cold up here on top of the liquor store they were camped at. Michonne had left about an hour ago without actually telling him anything besides 'be quiet' and 'stay out of sight'.

He wondered, like he always did when she left, if she was coming back. It would be easy for her and better for her if she abandoned him. He closed his eyes, trying to remember something, anything.

Something was coming to him, a face of a man – blurry.

"_Don't be a pussy, Daryleena." _ The crass voice echoed inside his head, so familiar. A name was on the tip of his tongue, and the face was losing a bit of its blurriness when a sharp pain pierced his skull. His crossbow slipped from his hands and they balled into fists.

"Here," he would have screamed if Michoone's hand hadn't clamped over his mouth. His eyes remained wide as he watched her; she then shoved a pill bottle into his face and shook it, "Aspirin." She then let go of him and took a step back.

He took the bottle, "thanks." He bit his lip watching as she got onto the ground across from him, shifting through her bag, handing him a bottle of water. "How many are there?"

"Not too many. We'll leave in the morning." She tossed him a granola bar and unwrapped one for herself.

He chewed on his slowly, thinking over if what he wanted to say. "I wanna help."

She briefly stopped unfolding the map in her hands, glancing at him. "Help with what?"

He frowned. "Stuff…" He wasn't very good with words and he honestly thought he never was.

"Stuff…" She echoed, giving him a hard time on purpose.

"Look here," his voice cracked a little. "Michonne, ya can tell what I mean!" He huffed.

The corner of her lips turned up slightly. "Alright, you wanna help. What's your point?"

"Teach me how to kill those things. How to use this," he held up the crossbow.

"Well, I don't have any idea how to use that."

He frowned.

{_

"Take a breath and then aim and shoot." Michonne took her eyes off the walkers below them and to Daryl who was aiming his crossbow. "The one in dirty yellow sundress, take your time."

Daryl pressed his tongue against his bottom lip and closed one eye focusing on the walker, its hair thin and dark, half of its face a messy fleshy hole.

"Someplace inside you, you remember how to use that thing. Dig deep and pull it out."

For some odd reason he found her words funny and smirked.

"Focus," she harshly poked him in his ribs. He quickly sucked in a breath, and shot her an annoyed glare. The woman glared back.

He aimed again, took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. He opened his eyes again and focused on the walker as he very slowly shuffled around a parked car. He then shot, the arrow imbedding itself in the walkers head. He grinned and turned to look at Michonne quite happy with himself until he noticed Michonne's unimpressed face.

"Well, that's one out of eighty." She told him dryly.

"Shut up." He huffed.

"You better save a few of those arrows until we can find make more." The woman yawned. They were atop a tiny café today. Her eyes went to the lowering sun; it would be getting cold soon. Winter was fast approaching, nearly almost here. They needed to find someplace to ride it out.

They headed back inside, quiet. They never speak when it wasn't absolutely safe and necessary. Daryl made enough noise with his clumsy foot falls. They stayed in back behind the counter, Michonne taking first watch and Daryl wrapped up in a blanket going to sleep.

Michonne looks around the corner of the counter, looking through the clear glass at the amount of walkers moving aimlessly about outside. A whimper behind her made her glance in Daryl's direction, watching him twist in the blanket. The woman isn't alarmed; Daryl always whimpered and mumbled in his sleep. If he got too loud she would kick him. She asks him what it is he is dreaming about when he wakes but apparently he forgets as soon as he wakes up.

Her eyes go to back out of the window. She would let him sleep and take his watch. She felt bad for him, he constantly had headaches, his balance was skewed, and not to mention not being able to remember who you are must be awful, especially in times like these. He only had a crossbow as a reminder of himself.

She found herself thinking and wondering if not having memories at all was better than having them; like having to remembering everyone that he had lost, and remembering the life that had been lost, verses not losing anything. Having this dead world as the one and only you've ever had any idea existed.

Her memories kept her going and crippled her.

"Do you think I have anyone I left behind?" Daryl's voice breaks the quiet an hour later.

Michoone glances at him again. She wondered how long he's been awake. "How long have you been awake?"

He gets up and leans against the counter, glancing at her before turning his attention to the glass cabinet in front of him. "An hour…" He answers. "Answer ma question… I feel like I'm forgettin' sumthin… well course I am. But, I feel like I'm suppose to be lookin' out for someone. Helpin' sumone."

"It's likely," she tells him. "You likely was in a group of people and you probably had some folks who were important to you."

"Ya found me in tha woods. No one else was around?"

"No, no one else was around." She answered. "If you wanna talk, you can take watch and talk to yourself. I need sleep."

"Naw, wake me up in about three hours." He then slid back into a laying position and closed his eyes.

PR


	3. Chapter 3

If you're intrested contact me by PM.

PR

Daryl shoved the machete through the walkers eye, yanking it back out with a sickening sound, letting its body fall to the ground. He heavily panted, puffs of white air coming out of his mouth as he whipped his head left and right, counting the number of walkers heading their way.

_5…13…15…_

"Michonne, I think ya need to hurry it up." It was times like these he missed Michonne's walkers and their ability to hide them from other walkers. He aimed his crossbow and took care of the closet walker. He glanced back at his companion who had just appeared out of the house they had stayed the night in.

She nodded wordlessly and they quickly loaded into the green truck they had recently found. "What took ya so long?" He mumbled pulling off the curb, running over a walker, turning left onto another street a little awkwardly, still getting used to driving again.

"I had stuff to get."

He glances at her. "Ya had stuff to get?" He asked with a tint of annoyance. "They were getting close to us!"

"Shut up, and turn on Mulberry Drive." The woman blew her breath into her cold stiff fingers.

"You're well aware I can't understand those things." He mumbled. As in he had difficulty reading, they weren't actually sure why reading was difficult for him. Was it because of his accident? Could he ever read?

"Not the next one, but the one after that, on the left."

He made the turn. "I say we got another mile of gas." Michonne nodded distractedly. "What's wrong with ya?"

She glanced at him. "Nothing, thinking, can't I think?"

"Sure ya can, but ya quieter than normal." He told her. "You can talk with me, Michonne." This woman was literally the only person he had met, the only person he had ever had a conversation with, and he felt he had no idea who she even was. She had memories and a past unlike him, but never talked about it. He couldn't understand why.

"What type of person ya think I was before all this?"

She blinks at him, and shakes her head leaning back against her seat. "I dunno… country."

He made a face. "What's that?"

"Redneck…" Her lips twitched upwards at his confusion. "The crossbow and the accent gave you away."

"I don't get it."

The woman laughed shortly at his expense. Her laughter made him frown at first but when he looked at her, he came to conclusion that this was seriously the first time he had ever seen her smile fully – not a smirk. A smile from Michonne – it was like witnessing a unicorn giving birth. He lightly laughed.

"What are you doing?" Michonne's smile quickly vanished. "Pay attention!"

He quickly righted the car and laughed again sheepishly, "sorry."

The woman scoffed.

_{

It had to be below freezing that night as they huddled in some abandoned house. It had been completely cleared out of everything including furniture. It had a sturdy foyer door and a backdoor that could only be accessed by a broken patio in the back, so they felt moderately safe.

The curtains were closed tightly and they were careful to be quiet. Michonne licked her chapped lips, trying to stop her teeth from clattering. Daryl sat beside her his hands shoved deep inside the black jacket he was wearing, hood tight over his head, shivering.

Remembering something, Michonne began digging through her bag with the flash light, making certain to keep it low. Finally, she found what it was she was looking for, a stocking cap. "Merry Christmas," she mumbled sarcastically, tossing him the grey cap.

He caught it, and wiggled out of his hood, shoving the cap on his head, "thanks. Wait, its Christmas?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "I dunno… maybe."

God, it was cold.

Michonne clicked the flashlight off, engulfing everything in darkness again. "Should we… uh, share body heat again?" Daryl asked a minute later.

Michonne was quiet for a long time. It wouldn't be their first time having to resort to shared body heat to stay warm, but after the last time… Michonne had never thought of Daryl more then someone in whom she took care of, kind of like a little brother, so it hadn't meant much when she had suggested they share body heat by sharing blankets and in a sense 'hugging'. It was all about making it another day, surviving.

When she in his arms that night, it became hard to ignore the fact that he wasn't her brother, not even. It was weird. She had felt weird.

"Michonne?"

"Shut up and lay down." She mumbled then fumbled towards him until she was at his side, then she laid down, their shoulders touching.

{_

_He was following something, with so much desperation it was suffocating. He was quiet as he moved through the early morning. He bends down, picking up soil, rubbing it between small fingers, bringing it to his nose and sniffing._

_Then he is standing again, his back hurts and his chests hurts, but he has to keep moving. Hunger is fueling him and weighing him down. He's smaller then he is now – a child. He moves forward, his eyes scanning around him, looking._

_He walks a little more, maybe hours, maybe only seconds, time is hard to tell in a dream, but he finds what he was looking for. A wild boar – he aims and…_

_Everything changes; he's standing in front of a man. The man sneers at him and is saying something angrily. His hand reaches out and grabs the front of his shirt and shakes him so hard his head hurts and the man fists raises threateningly._

"_Don't be a pussy, Daryleena"_

{_

He comes out of it and quickly sits up breathing heavily. His head was pounding painfully. Beside him Michonne also sits up and looks at him worriedly.

"What's wrong?"

He licks his bottom lip, his eyes going to the window which had golden sunlight coming through the cracks in the curtain. His mind was whirling. Then, he begins to tug his jacket off and his sweater, and then the filthy shirt underneath.

"What are you doing?" Michoone whispered harshly. "Oh…"

Daryl ran a hand over the light colored scars on his back; he had wondered how he had gotten them, now he had an idea.

PR


End file.
